


Oak not Yew

by NotManTheLessButNatureMore



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis and d’Artagnan are mentioned, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotManTheLessButNatureMore/pseuds/NotManTheLessButNatureMore
Summary: Athos and Porthos in a forest.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	Oak not Yew

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this on my phone on a park bench on a whim after googling whumptober (or fictober??) 2020 and seeing the prompt “No 7. I’VE GOT YOU”? Yes. Am I six days late for the prompt? Also yes.

Only while watching the leaves drag under his boots does Athos realise he’s almost bent in half as his legs struggle in their attempts to keep up. The leaves are crunchy underfoot and a variety of colours; green going paler and yellows blurring with oranges before the odd flash of a deep fiery red leaf reminds Athos that it’s autumn. It’s cold too, his hands are cold and his chest, a deep cold has settled there.

“Nice spot up ahead.” Porthos rumbles right up next to him and Athos now becomes aware of a hand holding tight to his belt and another grasping his wrist while his arm is stretched across shoulders.

“Rest here for a bit,” Porthos grunts and Athos feels himself pulled up straighter, “then we’ll be alrigh’.”

There’s a clearing suddenly in front of them and the sun is streaming through the tree canopies and spilling onto the forest floor. He can imagine the warmth seeping into their bones as they stop here for food during a day’s ride. Eyes swinging left, Athos wonders if the glimmer of light is a lake and then he can see Aramis with a wide smile as he follows d’Artagnan into the water.

“‘Ere we go.” 

The warmth of the sun is real now and it pierces his stomach with white hot sparks as Porthos drops him gently to the ground. It feels like the world has flipped upside down as nausea floods through him. 

“Sorry.” Porthos says as he guides him back and Athos realises the sturdy pressure behind him is not a tree but Porthos. 

The view would be beautiful at any other time. Leaves gently fluttering in the breeze, dappled sunlight spilling in front of them and Porthos whispering a story from last weekend’s activities. The trees sway softly in tiny circles as if attempting to lull Athos to sleep. A leaf falls nearby and the white glint of sun against the waxy skin reminds Athos of a story from another time during another season.

“‘Mis?” He asks and his voice shocks him, it’s barely above a whisper.

“He’s comin’.” Porthos feels even closer now, his arms wrapped tightly around Athos and his chin is balanced on the top of his head.

“I don’ re-rememb’r.” Athos says, a sudden panic floods through him when he draws a blank about how they came to be alone in this forest. His chest shudders and his teeth chatter once, twice, and then won’t stop and Athos stares at the rays of sun spilled across his legs and wonders why he can’t feel the heat.

“C’mere.” Porthos grunts as he pulls Athos up a little and tightens his hold, if that was possible. 

“D’Artagnan?” 

“He’s gone to get Aramis. Remember?“

Athos doesn’t answer, his mind wanders to a nondescript tavern and he watches d’Artagnan return to their table with three bottles of wine having lost a bet to Porthos. Aramis grins smugly and slaps a hand against the younger man’s shoulder while explaining that he should know by now not to make a bet with Porthos.

“-and you’ll be trying to escape before he knows it.” 

Any reply is cut short by Porthos’s hand pressing against his side and a fire erupts deep in his gut.

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re alrigh’.” He’s holding him tight even as his voice is gentle and Athos wants to twist away from his grasp, away from the pain, even as he knows there’s nowhere else he’d want to be.

The smell of leather, horses and the soap Porthos prefers mixes with the earthy smell of the forest and then Athos thinks of all the nights that Porthos has stayed behind to carry him home from every tavern, no matter how disreputable. All the nights that he has pretended to be interested in the stars while Athos threw up too much wine for one person. All the nights he has ignored Athos’s temper and argued with his dark thoughts. All the nights Porthos has settled him in bed so gently he could have dreamed of childhood.

“I’ve got you.” Porthos says and the words barely make it past the hair his lips are pressed against, his voice is so quiet.

“I know.” Athos whispers. And he feels safe. 

Horse hooves send thumping vibrations through the forest floor and leaves kick up where feet rush towards two figures huddled against a tall oak. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an appreciation fic for trees. And Porthos. Thanks for reading!


End file.
